I awoke early and spent the first hour of my day playing various cat games and otherwise engrossed in my prerequisite morning attention duties for five faithful felines.  After tending to each of them and enjoying some chase, some fetch, some romp and run and play, and assorted other activities, I finally decided to take a shower.  So I did.

Once I felt clean and ready to face the day, I began getting dressed.  This is where things got ugly.

Standing in front of the closet pulling out a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and a button-down shirt, not to mention a pair of socks and a pair of shoes, I pushed the door closed to keep one of the cats from entering (pardon my inability to identify which one; the pain that followed blanked out the entire event…).

In my haste to keep the closet free of felines intent on rummaging and ransacking everything in there (this is a fun game!), I pushed the door shut too quickly.

With my finger between it and the wall.

I now find it necessary to repaint the bedroom.  You see, the list of venomous expletives that spewed from my mouth were of such a virulent nature that they eviscerated the existing wall covering.  I do believe there might also have been a bit of dancing involved, something akin to playing hopscotch in bare feet on scalding hot pavement, although I cannot fathom why such an unrefined ballet was necessary.  After all, my toes weren’t involved in the collision.

Still, it felt required and aided in taking my mind off the blinding pain—for a few seconds.

But I survived, as did the cats, and it seems my finger is none the worse for wear—at the moment.  It hurts like hell.  There’s a bit of broken skin that must be removed (thankfully, however, it did not bleed).  It’s quite sensitive to touch.  And yet it continues functioning normally.

If it turns into a bulbous, black-and-blue knob prior to tomorrow morning, I’ll consider it a good conversation piece.